


An Extra Day in Paradise

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard gets his long-awaited transfer to London. But, his luck with airlines being what it is, his flight is cancelled. He has one more--unexpected--day to spend on Saint Marie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saturday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t seen 2.7 or 2.8 yet, and I’ve been avoiding reading stories that look like there will be spoilers. But I know Ben Miller is leaving the show, so Poole will have to be written out. So thank heavens for fan fiction sites, where I can exercise my right to be IN DENIAL!

As the taxi pulled away, Richard Poole wondered what the hell he was doing here. He should have stayed somewhere near the airport. But when his flight to London had been cancelled, he automatically went back to Honore. So here he stood, looking at the house he’d lived in for over a year. And no key to get in. The last thing he’d done before he left was put the key through the mail slot. 

He should have stayed somewhere else. What was the point of being here for one more day? He didn’t want to do the goodbyes again. Once was more than enough, thank-you-very-much, he thought. It was all so strange. Richard had never been so conflicted about a move in his life. He’d absolutely not wanted to go to boarding school. He’d been thrilled about the move to university. Pleased to go to London, where he could start his career. Not happy when he’d been sent to the Caribbean on one day’s notice. Mad as hell when he’d been told he was staying there.

And now he was going back to London. He’d wanted this assignment for more than a year. This should be one of those “yes, please!” life changes. But it wasn’t. 

Pushing these philosophical thoughts aside, Richard applied himself to the situation at hand. He could call the station. They all kept spare keys there. But then there would be explanations, and the invitation to come for one last drink, and the goodbyes that would follow. No, that would be a last resort. First, he’d see if he could get in. Best chance of that would be the veranda doors.

-o-o-o-o-

This had NOT been one of Camille’s better ideas. She hadn’t slept well. Wine may be a good sedative, but it had left her with a pounding headache. Going to the beach always made her feel better. So she went to the station, got the key, and walked along the beach to Richard’s bungalow. 

No, not Richard’s any more. Monday a new DI would arrive and take over the house. The poor lizard, she thought. It might be afraid of the new man. And what if he wouldn’t put out water for it? Tears welled up as she thought of the times Richard had tried to hide his affection for the little creature. Well, if the new man didn’t care for the lizard, she’d make it her job to go out there and fill its water bowl every day and maybe even talk to it, try to explain why its friend had left. 

As she approached the house, she spotted the bowl tucked into a corner of the veranda. Even as he was leaving, Richard had bothered to put out water for the lizard one last time. That was more than she could bear. She’d made it through last night without making a fool of herself and crying. At least, not until she got home. And now she was crying again. She pulled the key out of her pocket and let herself into the house, in hopes he’d left a box of tissues somewhere.

Oh, God, this was worse than outside. His house, but not his house. She remembered him sleeping in that chair while they toasted his birthday out on the veranda. The television she’d changed to French channels to torture him. The desk he always kept so tidy. She opened one of the veranda doors to let in some light, and the lizard streaked in and climbed up onto the boxes packed for shipping.

Camille sat on the foot of the bed and said to the lizard, “He’s gone. What are we going to do without him?”

And that was how Camille Bordey came to be sitting on an unmade bed in an unoccupied house on a hot Saturday morning, crying and talking to a little green lizard.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard was surprised to see the open doors. He thought he’d been careful about closing up the house. Then he heard her voice. She was speaking French. He hadn’t let on, but his understanding of French had improved greatly during his time on Saint Marie. He might have understood more of what Camille was saying if her voice hadn’t been thickened by crying and interrupted by little sobs. 

Richard was able to make out his own name in the midst of the babble. Was she—was it possible? She was crying over him? To the best of his knowledge, no woman had ever cried over him. He’d had girlfriends at university, but the few serious relationships had always been ended by the woman, not by him. 

With no idea of what to do or say, Richard walked to the doorway. The idea of rushing to her and comforting her was appealing, if a bit chick-flick cliché. But it was too late for that. He would only be leaving again, and why start something that was doomed before it could begin.

Camille looked up. “Richard?” _sniff_

“My flight was cancelled. Mechanical problems. Good old Caribbean efficiency. Or maybe I should say airline efficiency.” He shrugged, stalling to give her time to dry her tears. “I’m on standby for tomorrow or the next day. The airline will call me when they know.”

“Oh.”

“You know,” he said, struggling to sound casual, “The first time I saw you was in this house. You were pretending to be the cleaner.”

Camille nodded. _sniff_

“You sat on the bed and cried when I told you that Charlie Hulme had died.” Richard walked to her and handed her his handkerchief. “You were a pretty good actress.”

“J’ai fait mieux depuis,” she said softly, thinking of all the times she’d had to pretend she didn’t mind that he didn’t care. 

“En Anglais?”

Camille shook her head sadly, “C’est rien. Sorry, nothing. It’s a line from _Cyrano._ It’s French, so you probably haven’t read it.”

“There are translations, and it has been performed in English. I believe the RSC did a well-received production a number of years ago.”

Camille looked at him with surprise.

Richard shrugged, “It’s a classic story. Everyone has heard of it. Ugly man loves beautiful woman. Beauty and the Beast without the transformation at the end. Very sad.”

“It might not have been so sad if he’d told her. He knew she loved him and he didn’t say anything.”

Richard’s phone saved him from having to answer. He glanced at the caller ID. The Commissioner? He walked onto the veranda.

“Poole.”

_"Inspector, I understand that your flight was cancelled."_

“Yes, that’s right. How did you know?” Richard realized that was a stupid question. The man seemed to know the damnedest things some times.

_"I called the airline this morning to see if your flight had left, and found that fortune had smiled on me."_

“Oh?” 

_"Yes. It solved a problem. I had hoped to catch you before you left. I need you to stay on Saint Marie another week. The DI the Met is sending out had an accident. I just found out about it this morning."_

“I see.”

_"I hope it won’t be too inconvenient for you to change your plans. If my office can be any help, my assistant will be at her desk Monday morning. I’ll talk to the Met to confirm."_

“I can sort out the airline, thank you. And I’ll let the team know. You don’t need to bother with that.”

_"Excellent! I knew I could count on you, Inspector!"_

“Yes. Goodbye.”

Seeing that Richard had ended the call, Camille walked out to the veranda. Like Cyrano at Arras (yes, he had seen the play), Richard had a split second to make a decision about what to say. 

“That was the airline. I’m still on standby.”

“Oh. I’m sorry your plans were upset. I know how annoying it is to wait for the airline to reassign your flight.” She sighed and stared out at the ocean.

Richard hadn’t noticed what Camille was wearing. Out in the bright light, he could see that she wore shorts and a shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned. The breeze blew it open and he saw that she was wearing a bikini underneath.

“The second time I saw you, you were wearing that bikini.”

“And you arrested me.”

“By that time, I’d found out that you weren’t a cleaner. And you were searching a suspect’s boat.”

Camille turned to face Richard, hands on hips. “You locked me in a jail cell with a goat!”

“You called the Commissioner to get out. When I saw that you were not in the cell, I thought you’d made a jail break. I was about to call Interpol! I felt like an idiot when the Commissioner introduced us.”

Camille smiled, “I enjoyed that moment more than I should have.”

“Yes, I remember that smirk and that little wave. You were so smug.”

Camille smiled, “Oh, come on, Richard. It was funny.”

“That depends on which side of the Commissioner you were standing on.” Richard tried to scowl, but Camille’s smile was infectious. He smiled in spite of himself. “Okay, yes, I can see the humor in the situation. But at the time …”

Camille’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID.

“Maman?”

Pause

“Oh! I didn’t realize the time.”

Pause

“No. Pick me up at Richard’s.”

Pause

“I came here to make sure the lizard had water. See you in a few minutes.”

Camille ended the call. “Maman and I had arranged to go shopping in Victoire. There’s an artist who does the most beautiful silk-screened fabrics. We’ve been meaning to go for a while. Would you prefer me not to tell Maman you’re here?”

“Yes, thank you. I’d rather not see anyone. You know, awkward,” he shrugged.

“Well, I should be going.” _Ask me to stay._

“Right. Mustn’t, you know, keep your mother waiting.” _Do you really have to leave?_

“Yes. She'll be here soon.” _I’ll stay if you ask me to._

“I hope you find something you like.” _I wish I could be there to see you wear it._

“Thanks.” Camille sighed and turned to leave. A green flash skidded to a stop on the railing next to Richard. The lizard stared up at Richard. 

_What?_ he mouthed at it as he watched Camille walk along the veranda.

Richard could have sworn the lizard gave him a disgusted look.

Camille paused at the top of the steps. She blinked back tears, and was about to step down when— 

“Camille?”

She turned, “Yes?”

“Have dinner with me? I mean, if you don’t have a date already. I don’t have anything here, so I’ll have to go out to eat anyway, and I thought perhaps… I know it’s Saturday and you’re probably busy—”

“I’m not busy.” _I’d break any date for you._ “I’d like that.”

“But not in Honore. I don’t want to see anyone and have to say goodbyes all over again. I’ll look online for an idea. Or is there somewhere you’d like to suggest?”

“You choose. Just text the time, and I’ll pick you up.”

After Camille left, Richard turned on his laptop and did a search. To his surprise, there actually was a restaurant called Rageneau’s. Unfortunately, it was a café attached to a bakery, and didn’t do evening meals. Richard continued searching, trying to avoid seafood restaurants. That was not easy on an island in the Caribbean. But he found a French restaurant on the other side of the island. French food wouldn’t be too bad, as long as she didn’t try to make him eat escargots. Richard scanned the sample menu, and found several items he would like. He didn’t love the prices, but for a date with Camille, even if it was the only one he’d ever have— _especially_ if it turned out to be the only one he’d ever have, it was worth any price.

Richard called and made a reservation. Then he texted Camille.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille and Catherine were busy trying on clothes and debating purchases when Camille’s phone buzzed. Richard had sent a text.

_Le Perroquet d’Or at 8?_

Camille stared at the screen, then began to smile. Did Richard know that this was one of Saint Marie’s best Important Date places?

“Camille? Ma chère, what is it?”

“I have a date tonight.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you’re seeing anyone. Who is he?”

“No, Maman. I’m not going to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll interfere. Please, Maman! Don’t ask.”

“All right. Then let me buy you that dress for your date. It looks so perfect on you!”

Camille looked at the floral print. It was exquisite. But she already knew which dress she would wear. She’d save the new one for another time. _Please, God, let there be another time._

Camille changed back into her own clothes quickly and left Catherine to sort out their purchases. Outside the shop, she called Richard. He answered on the first ring.

_“Hello, Camille! Did you get my message?”_

“Yes. You do know that Le Perroquet d’Or is French? And expensive?”

_“Yes. I think I can survive both.”_

“Is the reservation for 8, or are we leaving at 8?”

_“That’s the reservation time. I was fortunate to call just after they had a cancellation, so I didn’t have a choice of time. I thought we should allow about a half hour to drive there. Or do you think more? If we’re early, we could have a drink while we wait.”_

“I’ll pick you up at 7:15.”

_“I’ll be ready.”_

They ended the call. Camille smiled. 

From inside the shop, Catherine watched her daughter. That was definitely a “someone special” smile. How did this happen without her knowing? Camille always told her about boyfriends and dates. Why not this one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Camille says “J’ai fait mieux depuis,” it’s from _Cyrano de Bergerac._ It’s Cyrano’s line, “I have done better since.” It comes from a scene in which Roxanne tells Cyrano she’s in love, and he begins to think it’s him. But then he learns that it isn’t, so he has to keep a bland expression, even though he’s heartbroken. Later in the scene, when Roxanne compliments Cyrano on how brave he was during a sword fight the night before, he says “I have done better since.” The scene takes place in the shop of Cyrano’s friend Rageneau, the baker.
> 
> Arras refers to the battle at Arras. In this scene, Cyrano has just found out that Roxanne loves him. (If you know the play, yes I know, this is a HUGE simplification) The battle is beginning, and he has only a moment in which he must decide what to do, and he doesn’t tell her he loves her.
> 
> And finally, if it bothers anyone that I had Richard say "you know" a lot, it's because he does. He speaks smoothly during the "reveal," when he questions suspects, when he discusses things with the team. But when he's dealing with anything personal, especially with Camille, his speech gets halting. I think it's very sweet.


	2. Saturday Night

It wasn’t even 7:00 yet, and Camille was dressed and ready to go. She sprayed some perfume in the air and walked through the scented cloud. Her mother had seen a woman do that in a movie, and had taught Camille to do it. 

“Ma chère? Are you still home?”

“Maman? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see—but you aren’t wearing the new dress.”

“No, Maman,”

“Why not? You’ve worn that one several times.”

“Because it has to be this dress. I know he’ll like it.” _At least, he seemed to when he saw me in it before._

“Why won’t you tell me about this man?”

“Because it’s complicated. And, NO, he isn’t married, or wanted for murder, or anything like that. He’d never hurt me. _At least, not intentionally._

“He’d better not. You look beautiful, Ma chère. I hope you have a good time.” Catherine hugged her daughter and left.

“I hope so, too, Maman,” said Camille softly. “I think I’m about to have my heart broken, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille parked the car at the end of the path to Richard’s house. She got out of the car just as he appeared.

“You look lovely,” he said. 

“Thank you.” Suddenly, she had doubts about the dress. Did he remember she’d worn it for someone else? Maybe the new dress would have been better. Then she looked at Richard. He wore his usual dress shirt, but without a jacket and tie. And he had the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. “You look … surprising.”

“When I made the reservation, they said I didn’t need a coat and tie. I thought I’d try something different.” Richard tried to sound casual, but he was incredibly nervous. His suit and tie were his armor, keeping people at arm’s length. He felt vulnerable without it, but he needed to know if he could do this, and he had very little time to find out.

Camille smiled, “I like it.”

Richard opened the door for her, then walked around to the passenger side. As she drove along the road around the island, Richard leaned back in the seat, enjoying the faint smell of her perfume. It was the scent she always wore—slightly spicy, a hint of vanilla, and an underlying scent of musk. He breathed it in and tried to memorize the smell.

Richard turned to Camille and said, “This seems to be a day for memories. I remember that dress. You wore it to one of those blind dates your mother set up. You walked out onto the patio and you took my breath away.” 

“I remember that night. When I saw you sitting there, at first I thought you were supposed to be my date.”

 _I wished I was._ “Did you? I wondered why you sat at the table with me. You seemed a bit confused.” Richard hesitated and then added, “Were you disappointed when you saw me?”

“I was surprised. I hadn’t expected a blind date to turn out to be someone I know. And you weren’t the usual sort Maman picked out for me.”

“And then she came out and sent you over to your real date.”

“And you went off to babysit.”

“Mostly to read. Try to read, anyway.”

“Was Rosie fussy?”

“No, as Fidel promised, she slept. I tried to read, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept picturing you in that red dress.” _And wanting to kill your date._

Camille smiled. Yes, the red dress had been the right choice for tonight. She remembered that night so well. She had watched Richard leave and wished he _had_ been her date. It was the first time she’d thought of Richard that way. 

-o-o-o-o-

Le Perroquet d’Or sat on a cliff overlooking the water. They were shown to a table at the edge of the terrace, with a view of moonlight on the water. Silver and crystal reflected the flickering of candlelight. Richard was impressed. The place looked even better than the photographs on the website. Camille looked at the view and smiled.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “How did you get such a good table?”

“Incredible luck.”

“Karma. The gods owed you some sort of payback for messing up your flight.”

Richard reached across the table and touched her hand. “I think I’m being very generously compensated for that.”

Camille scanned the menu. “They don’t have roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. But I suppose you’ll be able to have that soon enough.”

 _Don’t remind me!_ “I suppose so.” 

Still reading the menu, Camille missed the sad look the crossed Richard’s face. She said, “They do have several things without eyes.”

“If you want something with eyes, go ahead and order it. Just turn your plate so that it doesn’t stare at me.”

When the waiter came to take their order, Camille asked about the shrimp dish and whether it had eyes, because the presence or absence of eyes was very important. Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, and Camille smirked.

“Eyes, mamselle?” said the waiter. “I’m sure zee shreemp had eyes when zey were alive. Would you like zem removed?”

“Good Lord,” sighed Richard, “It will be the blinding of Gloucester all over again.”

Camille raised her eyebrows.

“Sorry, Shakespeare reference. Not important, do carry on.”

So Camille ordered her seafood (with eyes) and Richard ordered sole. Since it was filleted, he knew it would arrive without a face or eyes.

Their wine arrived quickly. Richard tasted and approved. After the waiter left, they both fiddled with the stems of the glasses, trying to think of a toast that would be appropriate, yet not say too much. Finally, Richard held up his glass.

“To cancelled flights.” _and the opportunities they bring_

Camille smiled and gently clinked her glass against his, “Cancelled flights.” 

They seemed to have formed an unspoken pact to avoid discussing anything in future tense. They chatted about inconsequential things. Camille explained about the wild parrots that gave the restaurant its name and logo. A young woman began to play a piano and sing, so they stopped talking and listened. When the woman sang “I Love Paris” (in French, of course), Richard asked Camille if she had loved Paris.

“Yes, it’s a beautiful city. I would like to go there again someday. Not to live there, but just to enjoy for a while. There’s another Paris song, _April in Paris._ Do you know it? It’s kind of funny, because it’s a lie. April is rainy. Most of the things in that song, like chestnut blossoms, are in May. May in Paris is wonderful. You’d probably prefer April because it’s rainy.”

“No, I’m not overly fond of rain in general. It’s rain in London that’s special. It’s hard to explain. But you walk along the pavement—sidewalk—and it’s gray. And then there will be a phone box, bright red standing out from all the gray. And it makes me smile.” He paused and shook his head. “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it, being amused by a phone box. I’ve never been terribly interested in cameras or photography, but sometimes I’ll see something like that and wish I had a camera. Instead, I just look very hard and try to make a mental picture. Something to hold onto.”

“Do you have any mental pictures of Saint Marie to take with you?”

“Yes. You in that red dress. Fidel the day Rosie was born. Dwayne with his cold pack on his head on a hungover Monday morning. The sailboats in the harbor. The view of the stars from my veranda. The lizard sitting on my desk.” _You looking at me after Aimee’s killer was arrested. You running along the beach and laughing. You the time we danced together for two seconds. You trying to explain voodoo …_

Something in Richard’s expression twisted Camille’s heart. She needed to get away or she’d start crying again. She excused herself to go to the rest room. 

While she was gone, the singer started “It’s All Right With Me,” another Cole Porter song, again in French. Richard had been introduced to Porter’s music at university. He knew many of the songs, and as he listened to the young woman sing, inspiration struck. He waved the waiter over.

Camille returned to the table as the singer finished the song. “Goodness, that’s a sad song. Did you understand any of the words? It’s about accepting your second choice. She quickly translated, ‘It’s not his face, but such a charming face, that it’s all right with me.’ How sad not to have what you want, especially when there is no second choice.” She swallowed hard. _Oh, no, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry!_

The next song was more up-tempo, and the singer changed to English. The waiter had cleared their plates, and they sat, relaxed, waiting for dessert. 

“I like this one,” said Richard.

“I don’t know it.”

“Listen to the lyrics.” He gave her one of those smile-smirks that she loved to see.

Camille gave him an odd look, but listened attentively. Her eyes widened when she heard:

> “Let me live ’neath your spell.  
>  Do do that voodoo that you do so well.  
>  ’Cause you do something to me that nobody else can do.”

“Did you ask her to sing that?”

“Yes. It’s classic Porter, with those wonderful internal rhymes. I had a professor who taught song lyrics as poetry. Porter’s were some of the best, very clever construction. I think his earlier lyrics were better. But this has some elements of it—do do, voodoo, you do, all in the same line. Brilliant.”

“And that’s why you asked for it?” Camille smiled as Richard squirmed. “For an English lesson? Nothing at all to do with a mention of voodoo? I thought you didn’t believe in voodoo.”

“I think I do, now.”

Camille was grateful for the arrival of dessert and the chance to look away from his gaze. He was going to break her heart. And she would cling to that memory like an indelible mental picture.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille concentrated on driving on the dark road. Every mile took her closer to the end of something she didn’t want to end. When they got to his house, she parked and turned off the engine. It felt awkward. They were too old to make out in a car, especially when there was a perfectly good house a short walk away. Would he say goodnight and just go? Should she get out of the car or wait to see what he would say? She turned to look at him and she could see that he was looking at her.

“Camille, I… will you take a walk with me? I need to… I need your advice.”

“My advice?”

Richard got out of the car and walked to her door. He opened it and said, “Please?”

She got out and took the hand he offered. The path was sandy, and she stopped to remove her shoes. He took the shoes from her and they walked in silence to the house. He set the shoes on the veranda steps. Again, he held out his hand, and they walked hand-in-hand toward the water. Then they turned and strolled along the beach.

There was nothing to do but say it. “The Commissioner called me today. The new DI had an accident. I’ve been asked to stay another week.”

Camille held her breath. Would he do it? Would she have one more week of this strange combination of heaven and hell? She stopped walking.

Richard stopped and faced her.

“And?” she said, “Will you?”

“Yes. The Commissioner’s office will make the arrangements with the Met. I took myself off the airline standby list.”

“A week.”

“Yes.”

Richard looked down at her hand in his. “I’ve been a fool. For most of the time I’ve been here, I’ve fought everything about Saint Marie. Tonight, I did what I should have done in the beginning, look for the good things. Enjoy what’s here and not obsess about what isn’t here. Dare to go out without my armor.” He gestured toward his rolled-up sleeve.

“You’re not a fool, Richard.”

“I think I am. I foolishly wasted an entire year. A man who can look at you nearly every day and not tell you how beautiful you are, how smart, funny, challenging, sweet—that man is a fool.”

Richard looked up again, his eyes meeting hers. He took a deep breath, and said, “I’ve got a week I didn’t expect to have. I’ve never believed in omens or portents or voodoo or karma or anything like that. But it’s as if the Cosmos has given me a gift. A week to figure out what to do with my life. I need your advice, Camille. Tell me what I should do.”

 _Stay!_ Camille took a moment to find an answer she dared speak aloud. “You need to figure that out for yourself, Richard. If I tell you what to do and it doesn’t make you happy…”

“Then help me figure it out. I think I want to stay here. Give me a reason to stay?”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she was tempted to lighten the moment with a smart remark about lizards or sand or food with eyes. But the look on his face stopped her. There was only one reason that mattered. So she stroked his cheek and said his name softly. And then she kissed him.

On the railing of the veranda of Richard Poole’s bungalow, a little green lizard looked out at the couple on the beach and sighed contentedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blinding of Gloucester refers to King Lear.
> 
> The song quoted is Cole Porter’s “You Do Something To Me.” He wrote wonderful lyrics (and good music). Clever word choice, alliteration, internal rhyme. Like all good lyrics, poetry set to music.


	3. Sunday Morning

Camille knew it was daylight, but she refused to open her eyes. She’d had the most wonderful dream, and she didn’t want to wake up. She rolled onto her side in order to face away from the light. As she did this, her outstretched arm touched … a shoulder? She held her breath as a warm hand settled on top of hers. She opened her eyes.

“You’re really here!”

Richard smiled, “I am.”

“For a week?”

“For as long as you want me.” He drew her closer. He wanted to add _Til death do us part,_ but it was a bit early for that. For now, he’d be content with this week. And the next week. And the week after that, too. And … 

Camille looked at Richard and smiled. _Forever!_ No, don’t rush it. “Well, certainly more than just a week.”

A while later, as they lay in a tangle of sheets, Richard sighed and said, “Is there a patron saint of airlines?”

“I don’t know.”

“There seems to be a patron saint for everything. St. Francis for animals, St. Jude for lost causes.”

“St. Michael for police,” added Camille. “Why airlines?”

“I want to say a special prayer of thanks. If that flight hadn’t been cancelled, I’d have gone back to London, back to a safe, boring existence. Back to being dull old Dickie, off on his own instead of liming with friends. I was dreading it. Sitting in the airport, I kept trying to think of a reason not to go. Ridiculous! There I was, about to get what I thought I wanted, and when it was too late, I discovered that I didn’t want it at all.”

“But you had reasons to want to go. Roast beef, tea, rain, red phone boxes, English beer, English television.”

“They seem like such petty reasons now. When I came back here yesterday and saw you, I … hmm, how to say this… I … I felt I _belong_ here. With you. I doubt anyone cried when I left England.”

“Yesterday was a sniffle. You could have floated the _Roast Beef_ on the tears I cried Friday night.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You seemed happy for me Friday night.” Richard paused, then said, “There was a moment, as we were saying goodbye, when I thought perhaps—but then I thought I’d only imagined it.”

“Keeping myself together Friday was difficult. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t want to embarrass you. Or myself.”

“Ah, so that was the _mieux_ you had _fait dupuis?”_

Camille smiled. “Yes. Goodness, Richard, what a strange combination of French and English!”

“Rather like us,” he answered, idly trailing his fingertips along the arm lying across his chest. “Doesn’t seem to make sense …”

“It does to me.”

“It does to me, too,” Richard kissed the top of her head. “At least to part of me, but the logical part of me is terrified. I have no idea what to do next. In an investigation, I always have a next question, a next move.”

“In an investigation, you don’t leap to the solution in the first minute. Each clue takes you to the next question, each answer takes you to the next suspect.”

“Us. Each answer takes US closer to the solution.” Richard sighed, “And we do get there. But this solution has a deadline. What if we can’t—”

Camille put her fingers over his lips. “Shhh! Don’t think that way. We can, and we will. Have faith, Richard. In God, Fate, voodoo, whatever. Just yesterday morning, you were about to leave Saint Marie. Then your flight was cancelled and you got another day here. And then the Commissioner called and you got another week. All that in only one day. I think that’s good progress.”

“One day. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible. Twenty-four hours ago, I was in an airport, dreading leaving. And now, here I am, in bed with a crazy Frenchwoman.”

“Half French!”

“Right, so only half crazy, because we know which side the crazy comes from.”

“Richard! Don’t make fun of—oh, _Mon Dieu!”_

“What’s wrong?”

“Maman! I should have called her!”

Camille scrambled out of bed. “Where’s my phone? I turned it off before I went out last night. She’ll know I didn’t come home. She’s probably frantic!” She turned on her phone, and set it on the bed while she waited for it to start up. She started picking up her clothes and getting dressed.

Richard chuckled, “You don’t have to get dressed to make a phone call.”

“Yes I do! Maman will know. Mothers know EVERYTHING! And do you really want me to sit in bed with you, naked, while I talk to my MOTHER?”

Richard blushed. In his few intimate relationships, he’d never reached the stage of Meeting the Mother. Of course, he’d already met this one, but under very different circumstances.

“Camille. Camille! CAMILLE! Calm down.”

“Don’t you DARE tell me to calm down! She’s left six messages. She already thinks I went out with some kind of axe murderer last night. What must she be thinking now?”

Richard grabbed the phone out of her hand.

“Give me that!” she shrieked.

“I will, when you catch your breath. If you call her when you’re this agitated, she will think you are in the hands of an axe murderer. Call her and tell her you’re all right. Then go home and change. Go see her or not, tell her as much or as little as you like. Do what will make you feel better about her. If you want to wait until we can talk to her together, that’s all right, too. When you’ve sorted that, call me, and we’ll go out for brunch. I’d like to try Rageneau’s. You know, to go with the Cyrano references.”

“How can you be so calm?”

“I’m not as calm as I sound. But I’ve got a plan for today, and a plan gives me confidence. Now, I’m going to shower and get ready to go out.”

“No jacket, no tie!”

Richard smiled and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Yes, dear.” He returned the phone and sought sanctuary in the bathroom. He could hear Camille’s half of the conversation.

“Bonjour, Maman.”

Pause

“No, I didn’t listen to your messages yet.”

Pause

“I’m sorry, I turned it off and then I forgot. I didn’t expect—”

Pause

“Maman! I can’t believe you’re asking. No.”

Pause

“No to ALL of them. No, he didn’t get me drunk. No, he didn’t drug me. No, he isn’t holding me captive. No, he did NOT do anything I didn’t want him to do.” Camille felt her face get warm at the memory of things he—and she—had done.

Pause

“I’m heading home now. If you go by the church, stop in and tell Saint Anne _merci beaucoups!”_

-o-o-o-o-

When Camille got home, Catherine was waiting, holding a cup of coffee. She looked Camille up and down before handing over the cup.

“Oui, Maman. Last night’s dress.”

Catherine sighed.

“Maman, I’m a grown woman!”

“Oui, ma chère, I know. I understand you’re upset that Richard left, but it isn’t like you to sleep with a man you just met. That isn’t fair to either of you.” 

“Maman, please! It isn’t what you think.”

“So you didn’t just meet, it wasn’t a first date?”

“No and yes. And we’re going out for brunch, so I need to shower and change. I think I’ll wear the new dress.”

Camille walked into her bedroom, removed the red dress and tossed it onto the bed. Catherine followed her and sat on the bed while Camille showered. Catherine looked at the red dress. Something about it was a hint that she couldn’t quite grasp. Camille had worn this dress for him, whoever he was. _No and yes._ No, she hadn’t just met him. And yes, it was a first date. So how could that dress be significant? Catherine closed her eyes, trying to picture the times she had seen Camille in that dress. What was she missing? She felt that she almost had it worked out when Camille interrupted her. 

“What time is it?” asked Camille, toweling her hair. 

“Eleven.”

“Oh!” Camille exclaimed, looking in the mirror. “No time, I’ll just pin it up.”

“Will he be here soon?” Catherine asked.

_Nice try, Maman_ “No, I’m picking him up. We’re going to Rageneau’s. Merde! I didn’t mean to tell you that. Please Maman, do not follow us or ask your friends to spy on us. I will tell you, I promise, but it’s complicated.”

“So you said yesterday. Not married, not a murderer. Someone you know, but it was your first date. You’re driving. Can’t he drive? Does he not have a car? The only time you drive when you’re with a man is for work.” 

Camille fidgeted with her hair, then put on the dress.

“Zip me up, Maman?”

Catherine zipped the dress and stood behind Camille facing into the mirror. “Why did you wear the red dress last night, ma chère? Had he seen you in it?”

When Camille couldn’t meet her eyes, Catherine thought again about the red dress. Suddenly, she saw the picture. Camille in the red dress, walking onto the patio to meet her blind date. Two men on the patio, and Camille walked over to—but that was impossible.

Watching her mother’s reflection, Camille could see the dawning realization. 

“It all fits,” Catherine said. “But he left yesterday morning.”

“No. He was supposed to—”

“And he came back for you! Oh, Camille, how romantic!”

Camille wriggled out of her mother’s embrace. “No, Maman! His flight was cancelled.”

“So he’s back by accident, here for only a day or two, and despite knowing that, you slept with him?”

“Maman! It told you it’s complicated. He’s actually here for another week. The new DI had an accident, and since Richard was still here, the Commissioner asked him to stay for a week.”

“But still … a week? And then what?”

“The new DI arrives in a week. Six days, actually. So Richard and I have six days. I know it isn’t much.” Camille sighed, “And then what? And then we’ll be standing on the edge of a chasm. We’ll have to jump. We don’t know where we’ll land. But I do know, wherever we land, however scared we are, we’ll land together.”

“But, Ma chère, such a risk!”

“Maman, it’s my life to risk. As insane as it sounds, as uncertain as it is, it’s what I want. HE is what I want, wherever we end up. He wants to stay in Saint Marie. He honestly wants to try. He survived an evening without coat or tie. And he ate French food! We went to the Perroquet d’Or.” Seeing her mother’s eyes widen, Camille smiled. “Yes, really. He said he was lucky and picked up a cancellation. We even got the proposal table—”

“Oh, Camille!”

“No, Maman, I don’t think he knows the restaurant’s reputation, and he couldn’t request that table on a few hours’ notice. I hope nobody saw us, because I don’t want it on the island grapevine. That includes you, Maman! Don’t say anything about us to your voodoo friends. Please let us work it out.”

Catherine agreed, and left Camille’s house in a distracted fog. Six days. Not enough for a novena. No voodoo. But there was one person who could help. Now, what had she done with that phone number?


	4. Sunday Afternoon

Sunday Afternoon

When Camille arrived at Richard’s house, he was waiting on the path. He walked to the car and got in.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” she said.

“No, not at all. I just wanted to wait away from the house. I thought if you came to the house, we might miss brunch.”

Camille laughed and put the car in gear. 

“Now here’s an interesting thing,” said Richard. “Without my coat and tie, I’m not so bothered by the heat.”

“Brilliant deduction, sir!”

“All right, I know it’s obvious. But I wish I’d faced up to this sooner. I need to wear a suit for work, but I should have bought something lightweight instead of wearing my London clothes. What a prat I was! However did you put up with me?”

“To be honest, Richard, I thought I would lose my mind with your hmmming and staring at the white board. But as I watched you work, I realized how good you are at it. Even when you resisted our attempts at being your friends, we did respect you.”

“Well, as I’m your superior, you’re supposed to respect me.”

“Yes, your rank was respected always. But you, as a person, earned our respect by being so good at what you do. Then respect turned to admiration. Admiration to affection. One of the turning points was the day Rosie was born.”

“Why? Because she sicked up on my suit?”

“No,” Camille laughed, “Although that was funny. Think about that day. You had two hours to call London and ask for a transfer. You were about to call when you figured out the case. Instead of calling, you rounded up everyone, arrested the suspect, and tied up the loose ends. Then you were going to call, but Juliette had gone into labor. You could have stayed behind, but you went with us. And then time was up and you couldn’t call. You put your job and your friends ahead of yourself that day. That’s when you really began to belong to us. Not just to the team, but to Saint Marie. 

“Another turning point that day was Maman’s opinion of you. You had gathered everyone at the bar, do you remember? Maman said the way you explained how you solved the case was fascinating. She said she understood why we worked so hard for you. She also was grateful that you saved her from getting involved with a murderer.”

“Speaking of Maman,” said Richard. 

“Ah,” Camille sighed. “She figured out that you were my date. I think the red dress was the big clue. She had wanted me to wear a new dress, and I said it had to be that one.”

“Is she angry?”

“She has doubts. I think she feels I was foolish, considering you could be leaving in six days. She didn’t say it, but I know she’s afraid that it won’t work out for you to stay on Saint Marie and you’ll leave. I don’t know which she’s more afraid of; that you’ll abandon me or that I’ll follow you to London.”

“I understand her fear of abandonment. But I won’t abandon you, Camille. I promise.”

“I know, Richard. I hope we can stay here, but if they send you back to London, or if you decide you cannot stand the sun and the heat, I’ll go to London. If you want me to.”

“Of course I would want you to! But it would be difficult. You and your mother are so close.”

“What about your family? Don’t you miss them?”

“Yes, but we aren’t as close. And it isn’t as if we can never visit them. And I suppose they might come here.”

Camille reached over and touched Richard’s knee. “No second thoughts?”

“Not about us. But I wish we had more time to work it out. One week. No, six days. I feel like I’ll turn into a pumpkin, like Cinders’ carriage!”

“Don’t worry _mon potiron,_ we’ll think of something.”

“ _Mon potiron?_ ”

“My pumpkin. I think I’ve found a pet name for you!”

Richard groaned.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille had to park a few blocks from the restaurant because of the street market. Richard opened the door for her and smiled as she stepped out. 

“Is that the new dress? Very pretty.”

“Thank you. Yes it is new. Maman had expected me to wear it last night. But I wanted to wear the red dress because of the night you were almost my date.”

“I’m glad you wore the red dress. Knowing you wore it for me makes me less envious of that other guy.”

“Oh, Richard, don’t be jealous. That date did not turn out anything like last night.”

Richard squeezed her hand and said, “Good.”

They walked through part of the market, planning to stop at some of the stalls after they ate. A vendor called out to Camille, “Hey, pretty lady. I have flowers to match your dress. Pretty lady, come see!”

Richard bought one of the flowers for Camille. She pinned it into her hair.

“Thank you, Richard, that was sweet.” She pointed to a nearby stall. “After we eat, we should come back and buy you some lightweight shirts. Something with short sleeves. Here’s a concept to think about, Richard. Weekend clothes. You do need a suit for work. You probably should go over to Guadeloupe for that kind of shopping. But you don’t need to wear a suit on weekends.”

“I’ve seen some of Dwayne’s off-duty wardrobe. I’m not wearing a shirt with palm trees or parrots all over it.”

“Nobody expects you to change that much. I’m thinking about your comfort. I want to you be happy here. I can’t get rid of the sand, but I can help you deal with the heat.”

Rageneau’s turned out to be charming. Tables and potted plants shared a large walled patio to the side of the bakery. Business was brisk, but they were able to get a table after a few minutes. They ordered omelets and pastries and coffee. By the time they were finished, brunch service was over, so there was no rush to clear the table for the next patrons. They lingered over their coffee, enjoying the shade of the palm trees.

Camille sighed, “Isn’t it lovely here? I’m glad you suggested it.”

“Shall I order more coffee?”

“Not for me. But order tea if you want it, Richard.”

“No, the coffee is very good. I don’t drink tea all day. It’s required only at breakfast and afternoon tea time.”

“I suppose I’ll have to learn to brew proper tea for you.”

“Your mother can teach you. Her tea is actually drinkable.” Richard groaned and hung his head, “And we’re talking about your mother AGAIN.”

“We’ll have to talk to her together at some point. At least we don’t have to tell her. She already knows.”

“Why is that not comforting?”

“Stop! You already know my mother. It isn’t like going to meet a stranger. Were you emotionally scarred by a frightening interview with a girlfriend’s mother?"

“No. I’ve never had to do this.”

“Richard, you can’t tell me you never …”

“No, I don’t mean that. But at university, we were all away from home, no parents to meet on either side.”

“And after?”

“Nobody serious enough to warrant meeting parents.”

“Well, Maman isn’t so scary.”

“Yes, she most certainly is scary! Who knows what she’ll do? I can see that she’s where you get your temper.”

“What temper? I don’t have a temper, Richard.”

“No, of course you don’t. You are the very model of placidity.”

“Now I’m plastic?”

“Placid, not plastic. Peaceful, calm, serene.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, Richard.”

He leaned back in his chair and smiled.

“What?” she asked crossly.

“You. You’re so—”

“Don’t tell me I’m cute!”

“Hmmm, no, cute isn’t what comes to mind first. Exotic and beautiful more than cute. But I was going to say how feisty you are. That may be the first thing I loved about you. I’m not sure what this says about me, but the bickering and the banter are strangely arousing.”

Camille gave Richard a sly smile. “There isn’t much you can do about that here. But I suppose we could skip the walk through the market.”

“I’m glad I didn’t order more coffee.” Richard looked around to ask their waiter for the bill and saw someone else instead. 

“Inspector! Camille! Commissioner Patterson beamed at the couple. When he saw them begin to rise he said, “No, no, don’t get up. This is a nice surprise. Aren’t the pastries delicious? Clever, don’t you think, naming the shop after Rostand’s baker? Ah, perhaps you don’t know the play, Inspector. I’m sure Camille will explain it to you.”

Camille turned to Richard with a bright smile and said, “Yes, it’s French, sir, so you probably haven’t read it. Although I believe there are translations.”

Richard narrowed his eyes at Camille and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. Fortunately, Patterson was looking at Camille and missed the silent communication.

“Ah, but the jokes are better in the original French,” said Patterson. “I’m waiting for my wife. She’s investigating the market while I finish my coffee. May I join you while I wait?”

“Oh, yes. Certainly. By all means,” said Richard, not meaning a word of it.

Patterson waved a waiter over to retrieve his coffee and get another chair. “It’s good to see that you are taking the opportunity to enjoy your extra time here. I suppose, technically, you are on holiday.”

“On holiday, sir?” 

“Your assignment in Saint Marie ended on Friday and your extension begins on Monday.”

“Ah, yes, I see what you mean. Well, Camille and I, uh, we’ve been doing some sightseeing.”

“Yes,” Camille jumped in to help Richard, “We’re doing a few of the sights that we never got around to visiting before.”

“That’s kind of you, Camille. I hope you’ll take time to show the new Inspector around when he gets here.” Patterson said it casually, but he watched Richard and Camille exchange a nervous glance. Yes, something was definitely going on.

“Is he still on schedule to arrive in a week?” asked Richard. “I, uh, suppose I could, you know, stay on a bit more if there is a need. I mean, what with the accident…”

“That would be most helpful, Inspector. It’s a funny thing, but while we were giving you a send-off in Honoré, it seems that DI Watkins was celebrating his transfer. He was very much looking forward to an assignment in the Caribbean. Unfortunately, he celebrated a bit too much. He fell down some steps and broke his ankle.”

“How terrible for him! They can’t send him here with a broken ankle!” said Camille.

“No, certainly not,” said Richard. “A plaster and all this sand! I mean, just one grain of sand inside a plaster would be irritating. And with all the sand here, it would be more than one grain. Think about the house—there’s sand all around. And stairs. He’d never manage.”

Patterson smiled one of his inscrutable little smiles. Did the Inspector know that he was practically begging to stay? “I appreciate that it would be an inconvenience for you to stay…”

“Yes, well, fortunately, nothing has been shipped to England yet. So …”

Camille found watching two grown men do a verbal minuet entertaining. But she thought they might do better without her there. 

“Um, I’m going to excuse myself,” she looked at Richard who gave her an imperceptible—except to her, she thought—nod. “I want to get some pastries for Maman.” She stood and the two men stood also. As she passed behind Richard, she patted his back, hoping that Patterson couldn’t see. _Get it right, Richard, reel him in!_

“So, Inspector, you would consider braving the heat a while longer?”

“Yes, um, I suppose so. The job needs doing, and, well, you know, I’m already here. What will the Met say?”

“They’re less than pleased with shuffling personnel around. The superintendent I spoke to did not have good things to say about what Watkins did to the Met’s carefully planned assignments.”

“I expect not. The superintendent who sent me here was rather cross about Hulme getting himself killed. It’s always difficult being short staffed.”

“More so for me, since I have a smaller staff.” _Time to close the deal._ “The Met doesn’t want to send someone else here. I don’t like change. There is an obvious solution, don’t you think?”

“And that would be?” 

“To have you permanently assigned to Saint Marie. I’ll talk to the Met, see if we can sweeten the deal. I can’t promise, but think about how DCI Poole would sound. So, Inspector, are you willing to stay?”

Richard tried to control a smile and said, “Yes, sir, I am.”

“Excellent!” Patterson stood. “There is one more thing. For the three years when she was working undercover, Camille reported directly to me. She is like a daughter to me. As long as she is happy, I’m willing to ignore certain rules. Just be discrete. Do you follow me?”

A stunned Richard simply nodded.

“Good. And, as her father is not around, I’d be honored to give the bride away.” He paused to enjoy Richard’s discomfiture. “In your own time, of course. But I believe Catherine is eager to have grandchildren. Enjoy your day.”

Richard watched Patterson walk away, “working the room,” saying hello to people. The man was incredible.

“Richard?” Camille sat down. “Richard!”

“Hmm?”

“What happened?”

“Blessed if I know.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know how it happened, or who played whom, but—”

Richard was interrupted by a waiter who set two glasses of champagne on the table. “Sir? Compliments of the Commissioner.” 

Richard and Camille looked toward the entrance to the patio, where Patterson had paused. He looked back at the couple and waved, waggling the fingers of his left hand. Richard grinned and lifted his glass in salute.

“What’s all this about?” asked Camille.

“We’ve got what we wanted. I’m staying.”

“Oh, Richard!” she squealed. “How long?” 

“A permanent assignment.” He held up his champagne flute and as Camille lifted hers, he clinked it. “And we have the Commissioner’s blessing.”

“Blessing? For what?”

“Apparently for pretty much anything we want to do.”

Camille’s eyes widened, “Anything?”

“So it seems. Just as long as we’re discrete, so no PDA.”

“No what?”

“Public display of affection. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde—English literature, you may not have heard of him—”

“I know who he was! You may have read only English literature, but my reading was more varied. And he is buried in Paris, you know.”

“Well, to paraphrase Wilde, we can do what we want as long as we don’t do it at the station and frighten Dwayne and Fidel.”

“Ah, so no sneaking off to one of the cells?”

Richard shuddered, “Ugh! Camille, those cells have held all sorts of horrible people, not to mention goats and God knows that else! That’s so—”

“Unhygenic, I know,” Camille smiled and shook her head fondly.

Outside the restaurant, Patterson made a phone call.

_"Hello?"_

“Hello, Catherine. Thank you for the recommendation. Cecile and I had a lovely brunch. You must try Rageneau’s mille feuille. Light as a feather!”

_"Selwyn! Tell me!”_

“I agree with your suspicions. After watching them together, Cecile says definitely yes. After talking to them, I believe that Poole does want to adjust to life here on Saint Marie. I also think that Camille would follow him to London if it came to that.”

_"Selwyn! You stole three years of my time with Camille by putting her into that undercover unit. She’s been back for only one year, and I don’t want her to leave again. Can’t you do something?"_

“It’s been done. In return for your three years of worry, I have arranged things so your daughter will stay in Saint Marie.”

_"Thank you!"_

“I must admit that it wasn’t entirely an altruistic decision. He’s a good man, Catherine, even if he is English. Don’t tell him, but he is the best DI I’ve ever had here.” Patterson squinted down the hill toward the market. “Oh, I see my wife laden down with shopping bags. I’d better go survey the damage.”

_"Love to Cecile! Bring her around for a drink some afternoon. And thank you, again Selwyn!"_

Catherine ended the call and sighed. “And thank you, Saint Anne!”


	5. Sunday Afternoon and Beyond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is a bit shorter than the others, so I thought I may as well post it now, too. This is the last chapter of this story. And I will see the LAST episode of DiP tomorrow night. *sob* So please, please, keep writing, people! I need more DiP!!!

Camille and Richard strolled through the market. Camille tortured Richard by pointing out the brightest shirts and ties she could find. His responses ran from “I don’t think so.” to “No.” to “Not going to happen.” to “This is ceasing to be funny.”

Having worn him down sufficiently, Camille took Richard to the stall she’d had in mind all along. 

“How about these?” She pointed to solid-colored shirts with fine lines of embroidery wandering across the fabric in matching thread.

“Oh,” he said, surprise evident in his tone of voice. “These are actually quite nice. I like the white one.”

“No, not a white shirt. Pick a color. How about this pink one?”

“God, no, it’s the color of shrimp. It probably has eyes embroidered on it somewhere. Tan?” 

Camille gestured to the tan one and the woman at the stall handed it to her. Camille looked at the size. “Turn around,” she said.

“What?”

“Turn your back to me.” Camille gave him a gentle shove. He turned away from her and she held the shirt up to his back to see how it would fit across the shoulders. She nodded then began to bargain with the seller. Richard started to say something, and she stepped on his foot.

“Ow, Camille!”

“Shh!”

In the end, Richard acquired three weekend shirts at a very good price. They agreed on tan and light blue. Richard thought two were enough, but Camille insisted on a light green shirt because “it brings out the green of your eyes.” 

On the way back to Honoré, Camille teased Richard about not wanting the pink shirt.

“It would have looked good.”

“Camille, look at me. I’m pale, pasty. If I wear something bright, I’ll look like a tourist. Allow me some shred of dignity while you turn my life upside down.”

“Oh, come on, Richard. Look at the progress you’ve made. We’ve gone out twice and you didn’t wear a coat and tie either time. You got your permanent assignment here. Now we’ve got you a few weekend shirts. And it’s still only Day 2 of the Great Week of Richard’s Transformation.”

Richard looked distinctly nervous, and Camille laughed. 

“Don’t look so scared. There are only two things left to do. If we don’t get a big case next week, we should go over to Guadeloupe one day and see about a lightweight suit. I promise to behave and not try to get you into anything too island-y.

“Yes, that sounds practical. I could go on my own, though. I did shop for my own clothing before you came along.”

“Mmm hmm, I know.”

“What does that mean?”

“If a woman had shopped for you, you’d have brighter ties.”

“You have a point. My Mum has bought me a few truly horrendously bright ties. You said two things. What’s the other one?”

“Maman. We should go see her and tell her we’re staying.”

Richard smiled. _We’re staying._ He was part of a “we,” part of a couple. It felt good, even if meet-the-mother had to be part of the deal.

-o-o-o-o-

Happy hour hadn’t started yet, so the bar was quiet. Catherine sat at a table near the back. Richard couldn’t believe it; she was sipping a cup of tea!

“Maman!” Camille held up a bag. “I brought you pastries.”

“Merci, ma chère. Hello, Richard.” Catherine smiled, “Would you like some tea? Not this, it’s jasmine. I’ll make you some black tea.”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll just, um, go to the loo and then get some, you know, cold water from the fridge. Camille?”

“Yes, water will be fine. Thank you, Richard.”

As Richard scuttled away, Catherine laughed. “Oh, ma chère, how did I not see it? I suspected you’ve had feelings for him for a long time now. But I never thought that he—but now that I know, it’s so obvious. That man can talk for ten minutes nonstop explaining every clue in the solution of a case. But you reduce him to a series of ums and you knows. It’s very sweet. And now he’s afraid of your mother because you two—”

“Maman!”

“Well, I think that’s sweet, too.”

Knowing he couldn’t hide forever, Richard took a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. He picked up two glasses and walked to the table. He sat down and fidgeted with the water bottle. Camille sighed and took the bottle from his hand. She opened it and poured.

“Richard,” said Catherine, “Don’t look so nervous. I won’t bite. 

“Did you tell her?” he asked Camille.

“Tell me what?” Catherine asked, just a bit too innocently. Richard wondered what she was up to. 

Camille grinned, “Richard is staying on Saint Marie! We ran into the Commissioner, and Richard convinced him to make the assignment permanent.”

“Oh?” Catherine raised her eyebrows and looked at Richard. “Did he? Well, that is wonderful news.” 

There was a clue there, Richard thought, but he couldn’t quite work it out.

Camille and her mother chatted about logistics, whether Camille should move some clothes to Richard’s bungalow, whether they should try staying in Camille’s house.

“What do you think, Richard?”

“Hmm? Sorry, this is all so new, I’m still trying to absorb it. I think we probably should spend more time at the beach than at your house. It’s more isolated, no neighbors to gossip. The Commissioner did say he would ignore the rules as long as you’re happy and we’re discrete.”

“I am happy,” said Camille. She kissed Richard and laughed, “I’m going to have to work on the discrete part.”

“I think you should celebrate. Let me get you a little present.” Catherine got up from the table and returned with a bottle of champagne.

“Thank you, Catherine,” said Richard.

“Just be good to my little girl,” said Catherine. “Because you do know that I have friends in the voodoo community.”

“Maman!”

“Sorry, ma chère.” Catherine hugged her daughter. “You forbade me to use voodoo to help you today. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use it to protect you in the future.”

Richard looked at Catherine, trying to decide whether she was serious about voodoo. And then he realized why she hadn’t needed voodoo this morning. Catherine saw the emotions flicker across his face as he worked it all out. She smiled and winked.

Richard sighed, “Voodoo, French women, dear God what have I got myself into?”

Catherine and Camille both laughed. Camille kissed Richard on the cheek and whispered, “You know what they say about French women, Richard. They like to make love in the afternoon.”

Catherine didn’t know what her daughter said, but she saw Richard blush. Yes, they truly were sweet together.

Camille hugged her mother and turned to go. Richard smiled at Catherine.

“You know, I don’t think I’m worried about voodoo. You seem to have connections much more powerful than that.” He kissed Catherine on the cheek and whispered, “You made a call, didn’t you? Thank you for that.”

-o-o-o-o-

Monday Morning

Camille got to the station early on Monday morning, expecting to be the first to arrive, but Dwayne and Fidel were already there, looking mournful.

“Good morning!” she called.

“Why are you so happy?” asked Fidel. “The Chief is gone. He was a good boss.”

“Yeah,” said Dwayne, “He was. Hey Camille, you look like you had a _really good_ weekend. I didn’t think you’d get over the Chief so easily.”

Camille laughed as she walked to the desk that Richard had cleaned out on Friday. It was hard to believe that so little time had passed. She sat in the chair and spun around.

“Camille!” said Fidel. “What are you doing? The Commissioner and the new Chief could be here any minute.”

“Not a problem.” She spun around again.

“Okay, Camille,” said Dwayne. “Spill it. You’ve got a smile like the cat that got the cream. Wait a minute. Did you get promoted to Chief?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Something better.”

“Come on, Camille,” said Fidel. “What do you know?”

“I know who the Chief is,” she said in a childish singsong voice. 

Then a familiar voice bellowed from the doorway, “Detective Sergeant Bordey, get your ass out of my chair!”

“CHIEF!” Dwayne and Fidel exclaimed in perfect unison.

“Good morning,” Richard said in his usual brisk manner. But he couldn’t suppress the grin.

Camille got up from his chair and said, “Good morning, sir.”

Dwayne and Fidel looked back and forth between the two detectives. 

“What—”

“How—”

Richard sat in his desk chair and smiled. “It appears that the new chap couldn’t hold his liquor. Got drunk and fell down. Poor sod, he blew his chance at life in Paradise.”

“So how long will you be here?” asked Fidel.

“Permanently, at least as long as my probation officer is happy.” He shot a glance at Camille, who smiled. 

Dwayne looked closely at Richard. The Chief was different, more relaxed. If Dwayne had to guess, he’d swear that the Chief got some this weekend. But his only close friends were the team and their families, so he couldn’t figure out who he would have been with. And then there was Camille’s odd behavior. She was always impertinent, but she was downright cheeky this morning. In fact, he’d swear that she—and it hit him.

Oh.

My.

God.

The Chief and Camille. Finally! Life at the station would never be dull now!

-o-o-o-o-

Two months later.

Commissioner Patterson walked into the station. “Good morning. I have some news.”

The team stood. Camille glanced nervously at Richard, who returned her look with a slight “I have no idea” shrug.

“And the news is good news, so relax. Congratulations, Detective CHIEF Inspector Poole!”

“Richard!” Camille squealed and hugged him, despite the fact that their boss was watching.

“Good on you, Chief,” said Dwayne, slapping Richard on the shoulder.

“Congratulations, Sir,” said Fidel, shaking Richard’s hand. 

“Congratulations,” Patterson held out his hand. “The official documents are all in here.”

Richard took the envelope and shook his boss’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I think it’s a bit early in the day for celebrating, but I think a round this afternoon is in order. I’m buying.”

“It’s NEVER too early to celebrate!” said Catherine as she walked into the station. She set a cake on Richard’s desk and handed a tote bag to Patterson. He pulled a bottle and glasses from the bag. POP! He opened the bottle and glasses of champagne were handed around.

Patterson raised his glass and said, “To DCI Poole of Saint Marie!”

“DCI Poole!”

Richard smiled and raised his glass in salute. A year ago, he would have found the attention embarrassing. Now, he was comfortable with this group of people and could accept their affection easily. He sighed to himself, _and to think I almost walked away from all of this._

Catherine cut and served the cake. When the party was over, the remaining cake said:

__**Congr  
Rich**

Richard looked at the cake and looked at Catherine. “How do you always know what’s happening before anyone else?”

She chuckled, and not for the first time, he noticed that like her daughter, she exaggerated her accent when talking to him. She kissed his cheek and whispered, “Mon cher Reeshard, I know everyzing! Voodoo, you know?”

-o-o-o-o-

At the end of the day, as the team was leaving to go for the promised round of drinks, Richard stayed in his chair.

“Richard? Are you coming?” asked Camille.

“Mmm hmm, just want to see it in writing.” He opened the envelope and took out the official letter from the Met. Another page slipped out of the envelope. It appeared to be a print-out listing jewelry stores on Saint Marie and Guadeloupe. Someone had doodled what looked suspiciously like a diamond ring on the page. Next to the doodle, there was a note in Commissioner Patterson’s elegant hand, _A raise comes with the promotion. Something to think about. In your own time, of course._ ”

“What’s that?”

Richard got up and kissed Camille. “Just the Commissioner giving us his blessing.” He tucked the list in his pocket, held out his hand and said, “Shall we?”


End file.
